Deruo was, to put it simply, a rather unimpressive person.

He thought of himself as emotionally intelligent and kind-hearted, yet his social circle was small. No one had ever truly connected with him, and to others, he was just an extra—a background character in their lives.

His appearance was average, his personality unremarkable, his circumstances ordinary.

Perhaps he had tried at some point, but his efforts yielded little. After numerous failures, he developed a theory he thought explained it all: his talent was just too lacking. He didn’t only lack the ability to learn; he lacked the talent for “dedicated learning.”

Yes, he knew it sounded ridiculous, but he firmly believed that effort itself was a talent.

Why was it that the moment he tried to study, his mind filled with random, distracting thoughts, and he’d end up staring into space, unable to maintain focus? Sure, 99% of people find studying dull, but why could they grit their teeth and push through it while Deruo couldn’t?

The answer, he told himself, was willpower—others simply had more of it. And why did others have more? It must be due to some innate predisposition or maybe even genetics.

This was, admittedly, a foolish line of thinking, one that might invite scorn. But it was how Deruo justified his failures, giving himself an excuse for his wasted life.

Sometimes, he wished that internet meme about escapism would become real. Every time he hit rock bottom, whenever his failures were laid bare, he wished he could flash a game icon on his phone, brushing off his self-loathing with a touch of humor and irony.

But in reality, Deruo hadn’t even played that game, so he couldn’t say he’d spent all his time on it.

His days drifted by in a haze of mindless phone-scrolling, aimlessly passing time, unable to measure up to people who had found direction in life—or even to those who had a talent for enjoying life.

He didn’t much care for socializing, couldn’t relate to the superficial way people interacted, laughing together as if they were close, casually using familiar phrases even with strangers.

In some ways, he was out of sync with society, though he figured that others were probably right in their approach.

Experience had taught him that most choices he’d made in life had been wrong.

For instance, he shouldn’t have left the house that day—a car ran a red light and hit him dead on.

That damned car didn’t slow down at all, as if it had brushed off nothing more than a fly, speeding away.

However, after the collision, he opened his eyes again.

Well, now Deruo was a black dragon.

Death and reincarnation in a new world as a different being—a plot he’d read about in novels many times but never thought would happen to him.

Before he could even examine his new body, a surge of pain flooded his mind, followed by a new string of memories.

They were long—far longer than anything Deruo had experienced.

Tananorn was an ancient, powerful black dragon known for a vicious and ruthless nature.

In the earliest days, long before most kingdoms existed, when societies were little more than tribes and clans, and history was scattered and incomplete, Tananorn had been born. For much of this world’s history, there was no record of Tananorn’s early actions—it was as if the dragon had always been there. Whenever new civilizations arose, it was already a looming threat.

Through centuries of terror, it spread its lineage of pure-blooded black dragons, bringing ruin and suffering to the world.

And so, history bore the bloodstained name of the tyrant black dragon king, Tananorn.

In the 12th century, seven human heroes emerged, engaging in a prolonged battle that eventually left Tananorn gravely injured, even severing one of its horns.

After that fight, the black dragon was never seen again. Some rumored it had suffered irreversible injuries and died, while others whispered that Tananorn had merely gone into hiding, silently awaiting the day it would return…

Deruo, now carrying these memories, could testify that Tananorn had indeed been grievously wounded—utterly overwhelmed by the heroes.

He could even recall the intense shock, anger, and fear it had felt during that final battle.

To think that even a monstrous killer like this could feel fear.

Before that battle, the black dragon had always viewed humans as weak, foolish, and lowly creatures. At that time, human society was still primitive, little more than small towns and villages, with no particular magical prowess. Among the many races, humans were utterly unimpressive, barely scraping by.

Until that one human hero, clad in silver armor and wielding a sword, defeated it.

But the hero made a critical mistake.

He could have sealed Tananorn away for a significant period with minimal harm to himself, as was customary when dealing with such calamities.

Instead, he risked his life in an attempt to kill Tananorn outright.

The outcome was a shattered but surviving dragon, left unsealed. The hero, meanwhile, was similarly scarred at the very core of his being.

For decades after the battle, the wounds gnawed away at Tananorn’s spirit. Despite its once unmatched power, time only made it weaker.

In recent years, the black dragon king finally perished, and Deruo took over its body.

Though damaged, the body was still quite powerful.

How to describe it? Like an account with maxed-out stats and accolades that’s been stripped of all non-essential assets—still potent thanks to its underlying configuration.

What kind of future awaited him? From his new memories, Deruo knew full well that this was a chaotic, ruthless world.

To many other races, humans were little more than prey.

Could Deruo, once a loser among mere mortals, manage to survive?

Doubt filled him.

In the forest, a girl with broken horns stared blankly at the treetops. Her wings, seeming to reflect her thoughts, fluttered erratically in the air.

Back on Earth, Deruo had been sluggish and out of shape from a mix of busyness and laziness. Even the slightest exertion would leave him breathless.

Now, the feeling was entirely different.

Even in human form, he felt light and brimming with strength, as if he had an endless reservoir of power.

He looked at a tree tens of meters away, and instinctively knew he could reach it in a single bound.

He looked up at the treetops—jumping from the ground, he could probably reach the highest branches in one leap.

It was a strange sensation, like how people can usually estimate how far they can jump or how high they can reach. Now, that sense was amplified many times over for Deruo.

And physical prowess was not his only advantage. Dragons were renowned for their formidable physical strength and magical abilities.

Magic felt as natural as a limb to him.

He could sense the magic coursing through every inch of his flesh, intertwined with his body to grant him immense power and resilience.

With a body like this, it was no wonder that dragons were nearly impossible to kill. They were less like living creatures and more like natural disasters with minds of their own.

Tananorn’s remnant body, even weakened, still possessed the power to devastate.